


Makes Me Feel So Fine; Helps To Relieve My Mind

by cassibill



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Scale Models
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassibill/pseuds/cassibill
Summary: When Maglor accidently does something to upset his brother, Finrod tries to provide a little stress release only to end up hot and very bothered!





	Makes Me Feel So Fine; Helps To Relieve My Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cousin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106291) by [katnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnor/pseuds/katnor). 



> This comes from a comment I made on Cousin and I wonder why this spent six months in my WIP folder when it was basically done. It however is likely the reason my HMS Astute, USS Gato, and USS Skipjack have not been worked on lately.  
> Bonus- Anyone recognize the song the title comes from?

Makes Me Feel So Fine; Helps To Relieve My Mind

Really, his grandmother was to blame for his current problem, well, her and Maglor, but Finrod really didn't want to think of them right now. He'd ended up going home with Caranthir instead of them going back to his place like usual. The Feanorion was in a bit of a mood, but Finrod knew several ways to make it better and he'd used all of them before it was over. The two had worn themselves out and had promptly passed out in Caranthir's bed.

Finrod was rather surprised then, when he woke up alone. The room was dark, except the lamp at the desk by the window. Caranthir had to have been up for a while, because he was sanding his u-boat and it had still been in two halves when they'd gone to sleep. It was the u-boat that was his grandmother's doing and currently a source of torment for him.

It had started innocent enough. The cousins had all been to dinner at their grandparents, sans parents, as had become a tradition every few months. Finwë said he loved the lighter atmosphere and invited his children and their spouses to dinner a different night. Once the meal had ended and they'd moved into the parlor, Indis had gone to get a top of Aredhel's she'd been altering. His cousin loved vintage and their grandmother could work magic with her antique Singer. To most everyone's surprise, she'd come bearing a hanger in one hand and a bag from one of those chain all-in-one hobby stores, where you could get a model train, have something framed, and buy enough fabric to upholster a house under one roof.

She'd returned the shirt to her granddaughter, prompting a discussion between the two granddaughters and Maglor on the best places to buy vintage, and placed the bag in Caranthir's lap. He'd looked up, surprised.

“I needed some things and they had a lot of things on clearance, so I browsed a bit. I thought you might like some things I found.” She gestured for him to open the bag.

Finwë had come over to watch, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin. “She was worried you might already have one and I told her it probably wouldn't matter. You could always mark it as a different one.”

Inside the bag was a good bit of embroidery floss, nearly a dozen jars of marked down model paint, and a kit of a German submarine from World War II. The floss and paint he could always use and he didn't really build ships, but this was a nice kit from what he'd heard.

“Um, thank you. No, I don't have this one. I don't really build many ships.” Seeing Indis' downcast face, he quickly covered. “I just finished a couple British Coastal Command planes though and it'll be neat sitting on the shelf below. Kind of like they are hunting it. It's good to, uh, build something else once in while. Change off pace.” She perked up brightly then.

“That would be a splendid display.” Finwë smiled at him and squeezed Indis. “I have several books in the library you might find interesting.”

Cúrvo had wandered over from Celegorm and Finrod's younger brothers, who had started in on sports, and started going on about batteries and sonar and a dozen other subjects. Thus Caranthir had a new u-boat to think on.

A few days ago, Caranthir had decided he'd had collected enough references and could get started. He'd become somewhat taken with the idea of having a sub for his airborne sub-hunters to hunt and even acquired a few extra bits to make it a little nicer.

The first step, as always, was washing the parts to be sure the chemicals that had helped it come out of the mold were gone so the paint would stick. He normally used an old dishpan Nerdanel had passed along to him years ago for the purpose, but the hull had been too big to soak properly, so he'd used a bucket. Likewise, they didn't fit on the yard sale cookie racks to dry very well either. He'd ended up sticking them in the dish-drainer with the pots and pans and heading back to his room to look at the instructions.

His brothers had long ago learned to be very careful around drying parts, because losing or breaking something would not go over well. This meant Maglor gave the cookie racks a wide berth when he put the crock-pot on. He'd even gone so far as to place it on the other end of the counter from them. He remembered Celegorm having to rescue parts out of the drain once and didn't want that experience himself.

A couple hours later, Caranthir had come back, having set up his desk, to collect his parts. The cursing could be heard throughout the entire house and on the other end of the phone by their mother, whom Maglor had called to double check her recipe for crock-pot vegetable soup. Everyone present had carefully gathered to seek the cause and had found Caranthir with a very warped submarine hull from where the heat of the crock-pot had caused it to bend.

Maglor had been contrite. Celegorm had laughed and took pictures to send to Aredhel. Curufin had gone into problem solving mode and had come up with the idea of removing them from their plastic frames and subjecting them to hot water and pressure until they returned to some semblance of straight, since the detail was still more or less fine.

That had been exactly what Caranthir had done repeatedly until that very morning, when he realized no more progress was being made and came to the conclusion that he would have to start at one end and super glue it in segments as he physically forced it back into alignment. It wasn't something he was looking forward to, so he had left it on his desk and gone out for the day. That's where Finrod had found him in only slightly better spirits. They'd gone back to Caranthir's so Finrod could give him a second set of eyes. Finrod had helped him come up with a plan of action and then he'd helped him unwind.

Some time later, Caranthir must have woken up and felt ready for face the task, because he sat at his chair, in nothing but a pair of boxers, the only light in the room casting him into silhouette, as he worked at removing the seam where the two halves joined. He had to be awake long enough to have joined the parts and to have filled in the gaps the warping had left behind. Now he was smoothing out the join and doing things to Finrod that he had no idea he was doing.

The blonde's breath sped up as he watched those nimble fingers work. With his left hand firmly grasping the hull, his right moved the sanding block back and forth over it, firmly but carefully. His eyes never strayed from his task to keep his work from accidentally sanding something he shouldn't. Periodically, he wet the sandpaper to clear the grit, causing his hand and the hull to glisten and, from time to time, he blew on the surface to clear water and slurry away to look at it better.

Without thinking, Finrod's hand slid down his belly and grasped himself, taking up the same rhythm as Caranthir. His left hand gripped the base, fingers dipping down to tease his sac. His right fell into the steady, controlled rhythm. Fingers moved firmly over the veins on the underside. His thumb glided along the top, providing the counter-pressure. Each time Caranthir ran his thumbnail over the seam to check for burrs, Finrod drug his along the sensitive ridge and flicked the tip. He bucked a little every time.

It wasn't as if he'd never touched himself before, but this was different. He was touching himself, but not. It was his hands, but not his control. He merely copied, more or less, what Caranthir did. He had no knowledge of what would come next nor could he change what he was doing. It was a unique sort of titillation and he was rather enjoying it. With his eyes squeezed partially shut, the silhouetted profile and shape and placement of the submarine allowed him to imagine that Caranthir was likewise touching himself. He shivered at the thought. Just the idea of watching his cousin pleasure himself made his own shaft throb in his hand. That was an idea for later, but this one had its own rewards.

Right now, Caranthir was rolling the end in his fingers, trying to decide it the bow was true or if he needed to make adjustments. Finrod tried something similar and found himself arching off the bed, white-hot sparks behind his eyes. Several minutes, long minutes, spent toying with his sensitive tip made Finrod sure he was going to cum right then. Just when release seemed imminent, his cousin stopped. Caranthir lightly toyed with the hull while he studied copies of plans and drawings he'd gathered.

_Quit being a tease and let me cum, you sadist,_ Finrod screamed in his mind. The light touches were killing him, but he'd do anything to have them back when Caranthir stopped altogether to compare several drawings. All Finrod could do was lay and watch as his painfully aroused shaft twitched and drooled on his belly. If Caranthir decided to take a break and come back to bed, he'd likely find Finrod dead of asphyxia, because he was certain he had wholly forgotten how to breathe.

Caranthir leaned forward, tilting his head for a different viewing angle, but from the bed it looked like he was going to suck his own cock. That was too much for Finrod to stand. He came nearly untouched, eyes rolling up in his head. He wasn't sure how long he was out, but Caranthir was saying his name and looking at him.

“What's with you? Nightmare or something? I heard to tossing about and moaning, then you thrashed harder and got quiet.” He was studying him intently and Finrod was thankful for the lack of light, because he was pretty sure he had cum on his face.

“Uh, yeah. It was kind of wicked. Glad it's over.” He was flushed, sweat-soaked, and painted in his own fluids.

“Sounds like it. I think I've got this nightmare of my own back on track. I had to fill the seam in a couple spots, but, once I get those sanded down, I'm calling it a night. Wanna go again after?” Those long fingers were already testing the length for high spots and Finrod was hard again. It was going to be a long night. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Caranthir would like a Gato-Class or I-400 to keep his u-boat company...

 


End file.
